Austin Adventures: Part 1

 I was trying, valiantly, to NOT write off 2026.

Sure...January sucked. But February was just a few days away.

I skipped into that second month like it was a new bar with a fun theme, half-priced drink specials, and forgiving lighting. Instead, it sported sticky floors, watered-down drinks, and unflattering fluorescents. Oh boy...February wasn't shaping up to be the clean slate I was so desperately seeking.

But wait...a week off???

Was February flirting with me? (cue a bashful blush)

Let's be clear...Amy Mosiman is no tease but a little light conversation never hurt anyone. And if that conversation was tinged with a bit of Texas twang and a promise of better weather, well, all I could say was "Giddy-up!" So I strapped on my spurs and headed West.

My last few plans to go visit my daughters had, unfortunately, fallen through so, to make up for that disappointment, Sydney had surprised me by booking me First Class on one leg of this journey. Turns out, I was born for steerage. Amy Mosiman has a capitalist mind-set but a socialist heart. Sure, my booty enjoyed the ample roaming room in the generous seating and I could have given a Can-Can Girl a run for her money with my ability to perform high-kicks as the seat in front of me was, like, a mile away but I didn't enjoy the feeling of blowing pass all of my fellow passengers...the huddled masses...still stuck back at Ellis Island waiting to get a button-hook to the eye. 

I was such a fraud.

My fellow First Class Seatmate deduced my duplicity immediately because I was unaware of both the presence of OR the triggering mechanism related to: A super-secret cup shelf. My gasp of surprise didn't help. Or my exclamation of "Real glass?!?!" when my Prosecco arrived. I tried to nonchalantly explain that my glassware at home was made up of diamonds but I don't think anyone bought it. 

An assortment of fancy snacks arrived in a brown wicker basket. My seatmate casually extracted three items. I agonized over my choice, and then, realizing I was taking too long in Fancy-Town, blindly grabbed one. 

Who eats chickpea nacho chips?

Apparently...posers in First Class.

Test #1:  Finding super-secret beverage-shelf button.

Failed.

Test #2:  Holy Grail selection of First Class goodies

I chose...poorly.

My companion, the Mayor of Fancy-Town, ordered four drinks on our under-two-hour journey.  He selected three items from the snack basket each time it went by and sighed because of the noise emanating from the  riff-raff behind us.

I only ordered my one beverage and choked down the chickpea nacho chips as I read my Christian-lite romance novel about a Quaker spy who snuck a shovel in, under her skirts, to a prison. I yearned for a spreadsheet to peruse or a stock page to inspect. 

I WAS fourth off the plane.

Delightful.

But I couldn't get over the feeling that I was winging it the entire time.

Maybe I need an altitude adjustment.